That You Are Here-That Life Exists
by Trumpet-Geek
Summary: [miyusawa] series: I Sing Myself. Hello is the most beautiful word in any language except for his name on Eijun's lips but goodbye is what the messy, gaping hole in his chest feels like when he has to turn his back on Eijun's tear-stained face.
**That You Are Here-That Life Exists**

 _By_ : TG

 _Summary_ : Hello is the most beautiful word in any language except for his name on Eijun's lips but goodbye is what the messy, gaping hole in his chest feels like when he has to turn his back on Eijun's tear-stained face.

 _Disclaimer_ : I don't own daiya.

 _Warnings_ : major character death

AN: this is not an april fools joke. sort of a belated present for mewyuki on tumblr xD

sequel to And You Beside Me

* * *

 _"O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;_

 _Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill'd with the foolish;_

 _Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)_

 _Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew'd;_

 _Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;_

 _Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;_

 _The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?_

 _Answer._

That you are here—that life exists _, and identity;_

 _That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse."_

-Walt Whitman

* * *

When Kazuya steps out of the cab it's with a certain sense of deja vu. Over the last year he's grown accustomed to the cold sharpness of concrete and glass, to the sounds of engines and the cadence of clocks and footsteps hurrying from one place to another. The airport, for all its austerity, has become a fixture in him, something solid and sort of comforting in a tumultuous year of change and instability.

The cab driver grunts and Kazuya realizes he's wasting his time, pennies slipping away as the meter ticks on. He digs around in his pockets for money, hands shaking a bit as he drops the fare and a little extra into the driver's outstretched palm. He gives Kazuya a concerned look but Kazuya's already forgotten about him, eyes drawn inexorably to the stone and steel structure in front of him.

His hands won't stop shaking. He drums his fingers against his thigh and puts one foot in front of the other. Forward.

The airport is a fixture, a motif, a repeated pattern. Kazuya has a love-hate relationship with this place, founded in the tide-like push and pull of it, washing people into his life and dragging them back out again like sediment under his feet. It has helped nurture the tender shoots of trust and adoration, helped them blossom into something infinitely more beautiful. It brought him Eijun, who came crashing into him like a whirlwind of light and color and passion and noise. On the other hand, it's seen him vulnerable, stripped bare and fragile in the wake of 'goodbye.'

Hello is the most beautiful word in any language except for his name on Eijun's lips but goodbye is what the messy, gaping hole in his chest feels like when he has to turn his back on Eijun's tear-stained face.

He isn't naive, he knows this will be far from the last time he gets to play out this routine. There will be more cabs, more luggage, more planes. More goodbyes. He wants to go pro, wants to live out the rest of his youth in motion, and he knows what all of that entails. He's seen enough emotional reunions, memorialized forever in photographs and news articles. He's seen his own blank-eyed reflection enough times to know, _really_ know, what it's like to be apart from someone who makes him whole.

But this time is different.

Even if he has to dole out more goodbyes, even if he spends his free time sitting in hotels and writing letters and pining after the sound of his lover's voice, missing the softness in his eyes and the warmth of his hands -it's okay. This time is _different_.

There's a lightness to his steps that matches the lightness in his heart, because he knows this time there is no expiration date, no return ticket to cut through their time together. No matter how often he leaves there is always going to be this, now, and he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed over the light-headed dreaminess or the stupid, drippy, ultra sweet thoughts because, well.

Because Eijun is coming home today.

The thought almost makes him giddy. _Home_. Soon he will get to collect his sleepy, jet-lagged partner and his luggage and take him to the place where they will share their lives from now until as long as Eijun will have him. Soon he will get to guide him to _their_ bed, tuck him into _their_ sheets. His stomach dips when he thinks about Eijun's toothbrush in _their_ toothbrush holder, about giving Eijun half his closet space to go along with his whole heart. He's even looking forward to the inevitable mountain of dirty laundry piling up on his floor because it will be _Eijun's_ dirty laundry.

He idly wonders what kinds of things Eijun will bring with him to his new life in America, tries to imagine his life filled with Eijun's things. He's imagined this a hundred times since he got the news: stacks of shoujo manga, a deluge of CDs and recordings of high school baseball games hauled halfway across the planet because Eijun is a sentimental dork and won't be able to leave his memories of Seido behind him. Eijun is going to bring all kinds of things to clutter up Kazuya's living space but Kazuya wants that, he wants Eijun to make a mess of it.

Wants Eijun to make a mess of _him_.

They'd already broken in Kazuya's bed, already christened the sheets and left their mark on his pillows, but Eijun's been gone so long that even the scent of him has faded with time. This time will be different though, because it's not just one night, one week, one month. This time will be different because he will get to wake up every morning to the constellations of freckles on Eijun's skin and the pretty sunburst of his eyes and the warm honeyed scent of his hair. This time Eijun will settle into Kazuya's mattress long enough to belong there, this time the disheveled sheets will be an anchor instead of an injury.

Kazuya lets out a harsh breath and hurries over to the stone pillar under the arrivals board -the one he'd propped himself up against last time he was here, waiting for the mysterious Japanese boy Chris had sent him to fetch. The coolness of the concrete feels good against his heated skin, and he distracts himself with the arrivals board to clear the flush from his overheated cheeks.

ANA flight 1902. Tokyo to Los Angeles. On time.

It feels like a dream, but he know it's not.

He still kind of wants to pinch himself, though.

Restless, his eyes catch on the stretch of tiled floor where he and Eijun had crashed into each other. He feels overwhelmingly fond of that memory, that moment of euphoria and disbelief in the fact that Eijun was there, in Los Angeles, in his arms. He had been there, and real, and alive, and _perfect_ , with his arms wrapped around Kazuya's neck and his tears of relief wetting the collar of Kazuya's jacket.

It's the spot where they'd kissed, desperate and sweet. It hadn't been their first but it had felt like the first of something.

It's the spot where Eijun had said met his eyes in a steady gaze and said, _I love you_ , and the spot where Kazuya had admitted his most vulnerable secret: _I love you, too_.

Eijun had followed Kazuya to Seido, and now he follows Kazuya to America with the same single-minded determination. They've redefined the word 'partner' a hundred and one times since those first ten pitches and it's sort of fitting and beautiful that this is where they begin the next phase of their battery, here in the international arrivals terminal.

He doesn't want to think about departures.

There's an overhead announcement -a very pleasant voice warning passengers not to leave their luggage unattended. It barely rises above the constant clicking of the arrivals board and the low hum of thousands of people pulling thousands of suitcases. Kazuya hopes Eijun isn't dumb enough to leave his anywhere unfortunate.

His watch beeps at him -an alarm he'd set for himself in case he got distracted- and he looks up at the long list of flight numbers.

ANA flight 1902. Tokyo to Los Angeles. Landed.

Kazuya fidgets, shifting his weight from one hip to the other as his stomach erupts with restless butterflies. This is it, this is what he's been waiting for ever since Chris had casually dropped the invitation into Kazuya's lap during breakfast a few months back, identical to the one he'd mailed off to Eijun in Tokyo. Kazuya had picked it up with shaking fingers and hadn't even had to read it to know what Eijun's name on the envelope had meant, but his eyes caught the ink all the same.

 _Mr. Sawamura, your application to attend Central Los Angeles Training Center has been approved…_

That morning, Chris had given him a gift he could never repay. At the time Kazuya had barely been able to speak despite the words that lined up behind his teeth, but he's sure Chris had understood the sentiment behind the wetness that had stung his eyes and the buoyant smile that had lifted his lips all the same.

It hits him that Eijun is here, finally finally _here_. Eijun is disembarking from the plane, Eijun is only a few moments away from being in his arms again, from being in his _life_ again, only customs separates them from starting their next chapter.

They have so much to make up for and he's so eager to start.

He takes a deep breath, and then another. He has a reputation of being the cool-headed one, for being the planner, the strategist -but there is no strategy for this. He's had years of practice and a library of masks at his disposal but there is no hiding this. It makes him fluttery, makes him nervous -like being at the top of the roller coaster just before the big drop, where all you can see in front of you is open sky and the ground so far away you might as well be flying.

He is flying.

It takes a while but slowly people begin to file out through the customs area like an exodus, weary and spent from travel. Kazuya searches the crowd, herded like livestock toward the luggage corrals, looking for a familiar mop of brown hair and pretty aureate eyes. His heart squeezes and his chest burns; he feels too hot and he has to bite his lip to keep some semblance of control over himself because this is it, this is the moment -

Except he can't find him.

There are probably tons of planes deboarding, hundreds and hundreds of exhausted passengers to sift through, but he can't help his disappointment. It had been so easy to find him the last time -all he'd had to do was wait for a hoarse shout of his full name and look for an arm-flapping, overdressed bundle. It had felt like the crowd had parted at that moment, and he'd just… Looked up.

He'd always felt this magnetic pull toward Eijun. When they'd first met he'd kind of wished it away, because Eijun had been, well, Eijun. Annoying, loud, simple, needy. But time pulled them forward, pulled them closer, and even though he knows the sentiment is kind of stupid he feels like he can find Eijun anywhere, in any crowd.

He is the compass, and Eijun is his North Star.

But that feeling is not here, and the flow of people slows to a trickle, and there's still no Eijun.

His stomach drops but he tells himself that it's okay, there's just been some kind of delay, Eijun's phone is probably off for going through customs, everything is fine.

His hands shake a bit as he slides his phone out of his pocket to text Chris.

To: Chris-senpai ️  
From: Me  
R u tracking Eijun's flight?

Kazuya had made the mistake of deigning not to download the flight tracker app, so while he waits for Chris' reply he fiddles with a few mindless games, trying in vain to keep his mind off of the dwindling crowd and the fact that the distraction isn't working. Hopefully Chris, blessed with a computer, will tell him some good news.

To: Me  
From: Chris-senpai  
Yes, his flight landed 45 minutes ago.  
Is there something wrong?

Forty-five minutes doesn't seem like much time, especially considering there's an airport to traverse and customs to muddle through. Forty-five minutes is nothing but the feeling that something is wrong wrong wrong doesn't disappear.

To: Chris-senpai  
From: Me  
No it's nothing. I'll try calling him.

He dials the number Eijun had given him the last time they talked on skype but pauses as his finger hovers over the send button. Eijun's phone won't work here, it's too far out of range. He could call with the skype app, but would Eijun even have his phone turned on yet?

Kazuya bites his lip and tries the skype app instead. It rings through. He tries snapchat, whatsapp, twitter, line -everything he has, anything that connects him to Eijun. No replies come.

 _It's only been an hour, everything is fine, I'm just overthinking things, it's fine, it's only been an hour…_

Except as a catcher Kazuya's never had any reason to distrust his gut feelings. Strategy and forethought may have been at the forefront of his brand of offense and defense, but if there's one thing he's learned from Eijun over the years they played together, it's that expectation and anticipation don't necessarily trump the freedom of instinct.

 _Even the best laid plans sometimes need to be uprooted to build a new path, Miyuki Kazuya._

He tries to calm himself down but his gut is still screaming wrong! and the hand that grips his phone has gone white-knuckled and stiff. Kazuya takes a breath and leans back against the stone column again; the coldness of it radiates through his hoody, grounding him.

This is just his mind overworking again, used to conjuring up all kinds of outcomes and possibilities.

Everything is fine.

Eijun probably just had to go to the bathroom, or there was a holdup in customs, or -or _something._

His phone vibrates in his hand, the first few bars of _Hallelujah_ playing through its speakers. It startles him and he fumbles with it, heart beating a kilometer a minute in his chest. He drags in a breath, slides his finger across the lockscreen, and -

"Hello? Eijun?"

His voice is breathless, barely anything of substance. He doesn't know if it carries over the din and buzz of the airport around him but oh god he hopes so, he just wants to hear Eijun's voice just to douse the soft fear that clogs his throat.

Eijun won't mind him sounding a little desperate.

"I -I'm not. I'm -"

The voice -it's not Eijun's. He pulls the phone away from his ear to check the number. He doesn't recognize it.

"I'm -sorry. Hello, Miyuki-kun. It's Sawamura Ayame, E-Eijun's mother."

There is something wrong with her voice, something off.

"Ah, sorry. Hello Sawamura-san. Is there something I can -?"

"I'm. I'm just calling to tell you that. There's been…"

"Is the flight delayed? It's showing as 'arrived,' but -"

"No, Miyuki-kun, that's not -that is, well. I'm. I'm so sorry."

Kazuya frowns. "Sorry for what, Sawamura-san?"

"Eijun is dead."

There is -nothing. No background chatter, no hum of a thousand rolling suitcases, no ticking of clocks. All of it disappears, blinks out of existence as the last of his breath leaves his lungs in a silent expiration. Kazuya's fingers spasm against his phone. He switches hands.

He misheard. He _had_ to have misheard.

"I -what?"

Sawamura-san, who has been so quiet, whose voice sounds so distant, lets out a harsh sob. It's muffled immediately, like she's put her hand up over her mouth as a shield, like she's trying to fucking spare him her pain.

The first tendrils of true panic take root in his stomach.

"I'm so sorry," she says. He barely hears her over the sound of his own ragged breathing. "There was -an accident."

"What?" he whispers. This has to be a joke, please god let this be a joke he doesn't even care, he won't even be mad, just.

Anything but this. _Please_.

"When?"

"On the way to the airport. He -the cab -I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry Miy- ah, Kazuya-kun. I'm _sorry_ , I didn't even think about calling you, I -we -"

Kazuya had been asleep in his bed dreaming about Eijun's warm body and Eijun's warm smile and Eijun's warm eyes and Eijun had been _dying_.

How is he supposed to navigate a world without Sawamura Eijun?

"We are holding the wake off until you can be here. We know he'd -he'd want that."

Her voice is wet, he knows she's been crying more in the last twenty-four hours than he can fathom -has _lost_ more in the last twenty-four hours than he can fathom. Before she hangs up she apologizes again and again, a litany of heartbreaking _I'm so sorry_ s like it's her fault, like saying sorry can keep the slowly spreading numbness or quiet the dull creak of the ice that fills his veins at bay.

The screen goes dead but he remains standing, phone pressed against his ear, listening to nothing.

He doesn't cry.

He's spent a lifetime forging double-sided masks to protect himself and it's only second nature to him to pull one of them down, a superficial veil of calm and focus to stem the rising tide of sheer fucking feeling.

 _Focus_.

First off he's going to need to buy a plane ticket back to Japan. He needs to check his bank account, make sure there's enough money saved up to make the trip. He's going to need to look into a place to stay. He's not sure if his father will want him under foot, not sure if the Sawamuras will want him around during -

He's going to need to find his suit, going to need to get it dry cleaned and pressed. He should really make a list of what he needs to pack, too, so he doesn't forget anything important.

He better call Chris.

Kazuya's fingers are wrapped white-knuckled around the phone case. It takes him a few tries to convince himself to loosen his grip. The pillar feels glacier-cold against his back.

He tries to dial Chris' number, but it takes him a few tries because his phone is shaking.

Earthquake?

Kazuya looks around the airport, but nothing seems to be amiss. There are no clouds of dust, no cracks in the facade. No one is running for cover. No one even looks concerned. All the people -they just keep going, tugging their lives behind them in neatly packed cases.

Huh. Weird.

He looks back down at his phone.

It's not the world that's shaking, it's _him_.

 _Shit -_

He dials the number. He has to delete and start over three times before he gets it right and is able to press the call button.

The phone rings. Kazuya covers his mouth with his hand, trying to contain the breach.

"Hello?"

 _Can't let it out now, can't let it -_

"Chris," someone says. Him. It's him but he doesn't recognize the strangled sound of his own wrecked voice.

"Miyuki, is that you? Did you find Sawamura?"

Kazuya drags in another breath. He can't say it, he can't he _can't_ -

His focus slips away from him. He loses control over his carefully constructed calm, watches it slide out of his grasp as the world tilts sideways. For a moment he feels like he's falling off the fucking edge of it, half expects to feel the impact of his body hitting the floor. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps, ragged and painful and so dry, loud enough that he can hear it rasping over the jackhammer of his own pulse. His free hand spasms where it clutches the fabric of his hoodie, just above his chest, like it's trying to recapture the cold emptiness he'd shrouded himself in before. Anything - _anything_ \- is preferable to the hollow fucking obliterative _pain_ that's settling over him, anything is preferable to the insipid vicegrip of pure fucking _sorrow_.

Feelings are things he's never quite been comfortable with; Eijun had been showing him how to have them, how to coexist with them, but now he's _gone_ and he never taught Kazuya how to close the floodgates.

"Senpai, please come get me. Please _please_ Senpai please-"

 _How am I supposed to do this without him?_

The phone slips from his fingers.

* * *

[05/14/15 5:34:13 PM] Ace_Eijun: MIYUKI KAZUYA!

[05/14/15 5:34:56 PM] Ace_Eijun: I AM COMING TO SEE YOU!

[05/14/15 5:35:07 PM] Ace_Eijun: IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS!

[05/14/15 5:37:44 PM] Ace_Eijun: ARE YOU HERE

[05/14/15 5:37:47 PM] Ace_Eijun: MIYUCK

[05/14/15 5:39:52 PM]: 御幸 一也: *Miyuki- _senpai_

[05/14/15 5:41:03 PM] Ace_Eijun: no I meant what i typed

[05/14/15 5:42:15 PM] 御幸 一也: Maybe I should let Chris-senpai pick you up tomorrow instead? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[05/14/15 5:42:35 PM] Ace_Eijun: nO

[05/14/15 5:42:43 PM] Ace_Eijun: i want to see YOU, miyuki kazuya!

[05/14/15 5:43:01 PM] Ace_Eijun: i miss you *heart*

[05/14/15 5:44:03 PM] 御幸 一也: You are such a nerd.

[05/14/15 5:44:10 PM] Ace_Eijun: you miss me too~

[05/14/15 5:45:07 PM] 御幸 一也: Oh god, yes.

[05/14/15 5:45:47 PM] 御幸 一也: I can't wait to see you Eijun.

[05/14/15 5:46:33 PM] 御幸 一也: Are you all packed up? Not gonna forget anything?

[05/14/15 5:47:04 PM] 御幸 一也: Like your passport

[05/14/15 5:47:22 PM] 御幸 一也: Or your underwear

[5/14/15 5:48:00 PM] Ace_Eijun: shut up miyuki kazuya that was once time! (ꐦ ಠ皿ಠ )

[05/14/15 5:48:57 PM] 御幸 一也: Oh my, is that the face you're making right now?

[05/14/15 5:49:14 PM] Ace_Eijun: guess you'll find out soon enough

[05/14/15 5:50:11 PM] 御幸 一也: _yes_

[05/14/15 5:51:33 PM] 御幸 一也: By the way, happy birthday Eijun

[05/14/15 5:52:09 PM] Ace_Eijun: thanks id much rather be celebrating with you though (๑ 3 ๑)

[05/14/15 5:52:54 PM] 御幸 一也: The beautiful thing about timezones is it'll still be your birthday when you get here

[05/14/15 5:53:16 PM] Ace_Eijun: shit its airport time i have to go

[05/14/15 5:54:55 PM] 御幸 一也: Please be safe. I love you.

[05/14/15 5:55:55 PM] Ace_Eijun: i love you too, miyuki kazuya

[05/14/15 5:56:14 PM] Ace_Eijun: see you soon

* * *

 _Please be safe. I love you._

 _i love you too, miyuki kazuya_

 _see you soon_

* * *

AN:theres a reason all the people who know me in this fandom call me 'satan.' i will happily accept your tears in the reviews section!

pls follow me at kuramisawa or trumpet-geek on tumblr for more shenanigans.

...btw this isnt the ending, but its also not an april fools joke! way back when i was writing the first installment i somehow convinced my skype group that i was going to kill eijun off. i was joking at the time but i couldnt get the idea out of my head so a year and a half later here we are. consider it an alternative ending!


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